Complex interpretations
by RnTshipper
Summary: Something Molly says intrigues Sherlock. He wonders if Molly is not the type of person he thought she was.
1. A Statement is made

**_All rights to Moffat, gattis and BBC. I own nothing. O.k. the first chapter's a bit whacky - I've no idea how the story's gonna take off from here, but I promise you a happy ending, well, as happy as can be expected for Sherlock._**

Molly was in the morgue, as usual, and engrossed in a book when Sherlock Holmes came swooping in as usual. She didn't notice him and that, obviously ticked him off – You don't walk impressively in to a room to have its only occupant not even raise her head to acknowledge your presence.

"Molly, need your help…"

No reaction except that of turning a page in the book.

"Molly?" , he said slightly raising his voice.

Still no reaction..

He stood close beside her and coughed –

"Wha- Oh..Hi Sherlock, didn't see you coming in.."

"Never mind that, get your apron, we have a case to work on."

"Umm…maybe you can do the experiments yourself? ", she asked hesitantly.

"Sorry?"

"It's just that I'm about to finish this book and the equipment's right there, so, please? ", she asked, with a hesitant smile.

"Molly, are you suggesting that you'd rather read –'', He snatched the book from the table and looked at its title, " The Corinthian than help me apprehend a dangerous burglar?!"

"I'm sorry, but, please, can you do it yourself this time ? Besides, Lestrade called and said that the burglar's caught already. You are only doing these experiments because he won't tell you how he did it…so no rush, right? Please…?" she asked plastering the most hopeful expression on her face.

"Fine!", said Sherlock walking to the other examination table, muttering rather loudly, "Women! I don't understand how you can enjoy such stories – so _romantic _and, and _soppy.._"

"I don't know about others, but I enjoy them for the same reason people enjoy fairy tales."

"And that is?"

"An opportunity to experience something that doesn't actually exist in the real world.", she said and went back to her book.

Sherlock was slightly taken aback. He had Molly pegged as a sentimental, soppy person and here she was, equating love to fairy tales. She actually said that love doesn't exist. Though it is a belief that he himself strongly subscribed to, he was a bit surprised when he received affirmation of his thoughts from an unexpected quarter. He saved the incident in his memory palace, because he had a feeling that this might come in handy, sometime in the future.


	2. Fierce analysis

_**Sorry for the miniscule chapters but all of us already know how this story's going to end, so I'm trying to get the maximum kick out of it. Thanks for all the reviews, favorites and follows – you guys are awesome!**_

"Are you alright?!"

"…."

"Sherlock!"

"Hmm?"

"Are you o.k. ?"

"Hmm..yeah..wha- What? Yes, I'm o.k. Why the sudden concern? After 3 years of living with me, one would think you'd get used to my eccentric habits, obviously not…",said Sherlock speaking as though he was annoyed.

"Sherlock, what you've been doing is eccentric – '', and when Sherlock tried to interrupt, John raised his voice and continued, "eccentric, even for you, yes! I thought it was impossible but what you're doing now looks like a composite of _all_ your absurdities! You play _haunting_ tunes on your violin; you smoke loads of cigarettes; you sit down, hours together on that dreary sofa, and keep muttering "can't be!" to yourself – and ALL this started 3 days ago, _after_ you've solved a case!"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and in a manner more arch than usual (John didn't think possible but that man is full of surprises) said, "So? "

And that one syllable did to John what weeks of toxic fumes and sad violin music couldn't – he snapped. The nonchalant, arch 'So', said with no regard for his concern was the metaphorical last straw and he burst forth saying, "So? SO?! Fine! Here's what I think – Either you're on a case that you're not telling me about or you've finally gone round the bend and have no idea what's happening to you. So call me when you've stopped being a violin playing, muttering, cigarette smoking_ ghoul_, and _then _I'll come back!".

With that rant, he stormed to his room, packed a bag and left 221b with a bang, literally.

_I'll have to get that door checked – the door, the door_ _**always**__ gets his worst…_thought Sherlock looking at it with an irritable expression. _I have to sort this out quickly. If it was enough to become obvious to John, then this little…umm..`condition' is getting out of hand. But sort it out how?! Damn you, Molly!_


	3. Peer review

_**All rights to BBC, Gattis and Moffat. I own nothing.**_

_**Ok...the chapter is rather long but I hope you guys like it. Sherlock is finally getting in touch with his 'feelings'. A big THANK YOU to MizJoely, my beta, for bearing with me. She's the one protecting you lot from my atrocious grammar.**_

* * *

John's mobile beeped with a text from Sherlock – "House smoke free, no promises about the violin though."

John was surprised. It wasn't the first time he walked out on Sherlock – he took his time, ranging from an hour to two days, depending on the outrageous stuff Sherlock did to tick him off , to come back – but Sherlock never _asked _him back. Most of the time Sherlock didn't even notice that he was gone.

So when he received a text from Sherlock asking him to come back home ("House smoke free" being closest that Sherlock would ever get to "Please come back") just two hours after their little tiff, he became a little worried. So he did what any self-respecting best friend would do – he went back even though he was sure he had nothing but torturous (Sherlock was an excellent player but his choice of music could be _very_ spooky) violin music to welcome him back.

When he returned to 221B, Sherlock was by the window in the living room, torturing his violin as expected. John sighed, shook his head lightly, and sat down on his usual sofa to lose himself in the newspapers until Sherlock felt like talking. After a long session on the violin Sherlock turned around to find John's head buried in the paper.

_That man…He'll never give up on me, will he? I wonder how long he's been waiting there,_ thought Sherlock with a rare, tiny smile on his face. _What does he find so interesting in the papers?! He's curious to know what's happening to me, yet, doesn't notice when I stop playing,_ he thought with a twinge of annoyance – _He_ should be the one doing the ignoring, not John.

"Ahem.."

"…"

"Flat sanitary enough for you, John?"he said, rather delicately, sitting down opposite him.

"As sanitary as it'll ever be with you in it, I suppose," said John, slowly emerging from the newspapers.

The two friends just sat there in awkward silence, not knowing how to deal with the elephant that was staring at them.

As was always the case when it came to social interaction, John took the initiative . "On a new case?"

"I…well…"said Sherlock, staring at the mantle.

_Sherlock at a loss for words…wow..What __**is**__ happening to him?! Maybe it's super classified Mycroft stuff – no, can't be. He never keeps anything from me, well, except his fake suicide but that was a completely different matter. This is like Baskerville all over again – like he saw something that he doesn't understand, that he can't explain...Yes, that must be it. Something must have stumped him._

The more John thought, the more sense it made to him. So, without further delay, he spoke his mind. "Sherlock…you look confused – like back in Baskerville – '' Sherlock gave an involuntary flinch at the mention of one of his 'mistakes', but John continued, albeit cautiously: "When you thought you saw a mutant dog…Has something happened that doesn't make sense Sherlock ? Is that it?"

"I – yes," replied Sherlock in a low hesitant tone.

"What is it ?"continued John in a voice that reminded him uncomfortably of his therapist.

"Radical change in the behavior of a…person," finished Sherlock rather lamely.

"Why is this…er…radical change in behavior bothering you so much?"

"I don't know. Because it is unexpected? Uncharacteristic? **I – don't – know !**" Sherlock replied, pulling up his legs on to the sofa in a sudden movement.

"You don't know why the person's behavior changed or why it's affecting you so much?" asked John, more than a little confused by Sherlock's disjointed answer.

After a moment's deliberation, Sherlock replied sullenly: "Both."

John sat frowning for a while. Sherlock's confusion didn't make any sense . If Sherlock had doubts about a person, he cleared those doubts by tailing said person quite efficiently. John wondered who this person was, that Sherlock couldn't tail. John became a bit more apprehensive. Any person that could disturb Sherlock was usually very scary.

"So..This person…Is he – or she," he amended quickly, remembering Adler, "a suspect? Or is something going happen to them?"

"I – No…" Sherlock responded, getting restless. He suddenly stood up and started pacing the room.

John was becoming more confused by the minute. This person was not a client and definitely not a suspect. So who was this person who had Sherlock so strung?!

"Sherlock ,who _is_ this person?!" he finally burst out.

"Molly!" Sherlock shouted with his hands gripping his hair.

John was speechless. He knew Sherlock trusted Molly with his life, quite literally, but he never expected that trust to turn into …well….something else. He did notice Molly's behavior changing. She was more in control, stammering less, like she was finally becoming immune to Sherlock. So what? Sherlock _wanted_ Molly to be that gooey, stammering mess?! He didn't understand.

"Sherlock, I don't see why a more confident Molly should upset you…She's still helping you around the morgue, isn't she?" he finally asked.

"She's _changed _John! You know I don't deal well with change."

"You don't deal well with change that _inconveniences_ you," John corrected him. "Why a more confident Molly should inconveni – ''John stopped dead when realization hit him with full force. "You…like…her."

"What?! Don't be absurd!" said Sherlock, but with a _very_ noticeable flushed face.

"Of _course_ you like her!" said John now standing up himself. He continued in a voice that was gradually becoming louder with excitement. "You like her! You want her to be her old self because you liked her attention, but now that she's ignoring you, you_ miss_ her, and you_ know_ you like her, and _that's _why you're upset – Oh, admit it Sherlock !" he added when Sherlock started to say something obviously in denial.

Sherlock just glared at his friend for a long while before finally caving in with a loud frustrated sigh. "Oh FINE! Yes, I like her…Ever since I came back, I've been…considering…a life with her. But _now _ – ''he said sitting down, suddenly exhausted by all the excitement, "_Now_ John, when I finally see her for what she is, she _abruptly_ turns around and becomes…becomes _me_!"

"What?!"

"The other day in the morgue…she equated love to fairy tales. She said it _does not_ exist!"

"You ignore a woman for that long, what else do you expect, Sherlock?"said John in a voice that sounded both sympathetic and exasperated.

Sherlock just sat there, frowning at the fire place with his hands curled up in to fists, and legs tapping the floor furiously. He finally understood how Molly felt three years ago, so desperate, so…hopeless. John did not know what to do. He slowly sat down in front of his friend and looked at his agitated face. He felt he had to say something.

"Anything I can do to help?" he asked cautiously.

"I don't see how you can John, unless…" Sherlock stopped when a plan began to form in his mind. _Yes…yes! This'll work capitally! Oh…Why didn't I see this earlier? John is definitely a __**great **__mental __stimulator!_

"Unless?"

"Unless you date her!" he said excitedly, bending forward, gripping the sofa.

"WHAT?!"

"You're great with women, maybe you can rekindle her interest and then I'll step in – ''

"Shut up, Sherlock."

"But listen – ''

"NO SHERLOCK!" John shouted, desperate to stop this line of thought in its tracks. "You don't ignore a woman for three years and then _experiment_ on her to make her like you. If you do that, it means you don't _deserve_ her, Sherlock! If you _really_ like her, talk to her, change her mind, and if _that_ doesn't help, you deal with the loss, like everybody else. You've got _no _other option!"

For a while, both men were silent. Sherlock was staring at his friend furiously and John was looking at him with an expression mixed with exasperation and pity.

"There really is no other way, Sherlock." With that he got up and slowly walked away to his room, leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts.


	4. Statement is disproved

**_It's the 4th and the final chapter. All rights to BBC, Gattis and Moffat. The song mentioned is 'Your song' by Kate walsh. The rainy weather incorporated in to the story was, ahem, 'inspired' by 'case of ginger midgets' by Morbidbydefault . Thanks MizJoely for waeving your magic. I hope the ending is not too flat for you guys. Anyway, read and enjoy. Don't forget to review :)_**

* * *

It was 3:00 in the afternoon. It had just rained and the weather was wonderful – grey clouds were still drifting across the sky in little groups, bringing with them little bursts of light drizzle. A soft, cool breeze was playing around. And in this weather, Molly found herself walking on the pavement in a leisurely gait - just walking, not going anywhere. Her head was raised to expose her neck to the pleasant breeze and her arms were locked behind her back. A tiny smile played across her lips and she took a deep, satisfied breath as the breeze started playing with the little curls on her neck. She kept lifting her face with a wild smile to catch the intermittent drizzle. To the stray pedestrian she probably looked like someone who'd lost her mind and she knew she was inviting stares but she didn't care anymore. She was slowly taking back control of her life and she was celebrating and celebrations _always_ called for a little wacky behavior.

She was still savoring her walk and the weather when a small buzz from her pocket caught her attention. She looked down with a frown – _lord, it's usually the morgue or Sherlock – either way, definitely not good news._ Still frowning, she took out her mobile to see that the text was indeed from Sherlock. Her frown deepened, and an expression of restlessness set in as she read the laconic text – "Need you at the morgue."

_Need me, do you? Well, hell no. I'm not going to waste a lovely day being shut up in the morgue with you and your planet-sized ego._ Thinking along these lines, she started typing, "Can't. 'Toby' emergency"._ There – I can be as laconic as you._ She stared at the unsent text, undecided about sending it, but a fresh wave of soothing breeze settled it and she determinedly pressed the sent button, pushed the phone into her pocket and resumed her stroll.

* * *

Sherlock was furiously pacing the hallway of the morgue, head bent and hands thrust into the pockets of his huge coat, when he heard the 'ping' of Molly's message. He looked at the text he'd just received, uttered a small noise of impatience and walked quickly toward the exit. Once outside, he hailed a cab and in fifteen minutes found himself at Molly's apartment building. When he reached Molly's flat, he found it locked. Assuming she was at the vet's he took out his mobile to send her a text, asking her whereabouts. As he was about to type, the cat flap moved and with a slight shock he found Toby lazily coming out of the flat - a perfectly _healthy_ Toby.

_Molly Hooper lied_ he thought, with clenched jaws.

* * *

Molly was slowly climbing the stairs to her flat humming a Kate Walsh song to herself, the very picture of contentment, "And I'll make whirlpools…watch him sparkle…and we'll make – What the-?!" She jumped a little as she looked up to find Sherlock fixing her with an angry and indignant look. He was standing in front of her door, severely straight, legs apart and hands thrust in to his coat pocket. Beside his right foot was Toby, rolling around playing with his shoelace. Molly looked from the consulting detective to the tailed traitor and gulped – _great, I'm going to be interrogated by the world's only consulting detective – a great finish to a great day_ she thought ruefully.

"Lovely day, Molly," said Sherlock, reminding Molly of Severus Snape in one of his worst moods.

"Isn't it, Sherlock?"she replied in a voice she tried to make cheerful but succeeded only in turning it into a squeak.

She was still clutching the banister, standing on the last step, awkwardly looking at Sherlock, while he looked as impassive as ever.

Bringing out a thin sarcastic smile, he said, cocking his head slightly and narrowing his eyes a tiny bit,"Toby is alright, thankfully…what was the emergency ?"

"I…um…was out of cat food – ''

"And you decided to walk for – '' he ran his eyes quickly over her hair and the wet spots on her blouse, "two hours to find it, in spite of having a rather large utility store right at the end of your street, and you came back _without _buying it – fascinating Molly," he continued with a flourish of his head. "The range of your intellect never ceases to surprise!" he finished, spitting out the last words with a _very_ animated expression.

The entitled expression on Sherlock's face riled Molly up. She'd promised herself that she wasn't going to be bossed around by him anymore and right then, she decided, was the time to act on that promise.

She steeled herself, took a deep breath, took out the key from her pocket and walked to the door, all the while not even glancing at Sherlock. She unlocked the door and went in; Sherlock started following her when she turned back with one hand on the door and a frown firmly in place – "Is there something else that we need to 'discuss' ?" she asked, stressing the last word.

Sherlock was a bit taken aback. Her expression and tone were caustic enough to break through his barrier of social ineptitude. He got the message loud and clear – Molly's question was the more polite version of "I don't remember asking you to come in."

Caught by surprise, he responded with hostility. "Wow, Molly, you lie _and_ you behave like _I_ did something wrong, I waited for you – ''

Molly interrupted him before his voice could get any louder, "Alright then, I shouldn't have lied! I should've just called you and made it clear to you that last time I checked I was working for Bart's and _definitely _not for you, and therefore I can bloody well spend my day off whichever way I like!"

Sherlock didn't give her much time to rejoice in her strength of character. Forcibly walking into her flat, he closed the door behind him, all the while facing Molly and saying in a loud, angry tone, " Did you even stop for a minute and think how urgent the matter could've been? How your presence could've made a _significant _difference?!''

"Oh, get off, Sherlock!" she yelled. She was in the centre of the room, face flushed and hands at her sides, balled in tightly clenched fists.

She continued yelling. "Had it been urgent you wouldn't have bothered to text me! You would've just rushed in, terrorized the attendant present, conducted your tests and marched off to _apprehend_ the suspect and _then, _you would've gone back home to John, skull, violin and other _impossibly _dreary stuff and sit huffing and puffing till the next case! No, the situation was _not_ urgent and you didn't need me, because I _know _Sherlock!" She paused for breath and also because her voice was too tight to talk safely. All the pent up indignation she'd ever felt was threatening to break the dam and she had to control herself before anything…overly emotional happened.

Sherlock, who was still standing in front of the door, was overwhelmed as well. He hadn't expected Molly to be so…fierce. He was just staring at her, mouth slightly open, when it struck him that Molly had left her tirade unfinished. "Know what?" he asked slowly, all sarcasm and indignation gone from his voice. He just wanted to know what Molly was thinking about him and for the first time in his life, he actually wanted someone to _speak _their intentions instead of wanting to observe and detect.

She took a deep breath, steadied herself and rested her arm on a chest of drawers. She was still facing him, but her head was bent and she wasn't looking at him. She started talking in a small but steady voice, "I know that you need me for access to organs, or as an assistant for your experiments or…as a last resort."

The words 'last resort' were a blow to Sherlock. He thought he had shown her his heart that night in the morgue but now was aghast at knowing that she had simply written it off as desperation. He had hurt her _so_ many times that the one time he was nice to her, she labeled herself not as a friend but as a…last resort. Standing there, looking at her supremely dejected face and thinking back to all their conversations after he 'came back', he realized with growing trepidation that he didn't follow through – sure he told her that she counted, but what had he done to reinforce it once he returned?! The same curt replies, insensitive deductions and demands for assistance. He had stupidly assumed that Molly understood. Now he set about to correct the record in his characteristic laconic style. "Molly," he said in a steady, determined voice, coming closer to her as he spoke. "I don't just need you for lab access and assistance or as a last resort…I need you. Period."

Molly was stunned. She raised her head to find him staring into her eyes, gauging her reaction. She just stood there, not knowing what to say, hand still on the chest of drawers and mouth slightly open.

He stepped a little closer and asked her, "Am I too late Molly?"

She just heaved a huge sigh; correctly deducing it as a sign of imminent tears, he quickly stepped in and closed the distance between them. He hugged her gently, one hand around her shoulders and the other in her hair.

"It's OK…everything's okay now. I'm sorry Molly, I'm so sorry for making you wait so long."

While he was comforting her, she just gripped his arms a little below the shoulders and was trying hard to steady herself. She was overjoyed and relieved, like a burden had been lifted. She didn't know until Sherlock asked her if it was too late, that by trying to forget him she was fighting a losing battle with herself. The feeling that she need not fight anymore was truly overwhelming. She just held on to him and let herself go…

* * *

An hour later both of them were seated on her couch. Molly was snuggled close to him and he had his arm around her. They were talking about their many meetings and conversations in the past. In the glow of present happiness even some of the thornier ones seemed funny or quirky. Finally Sherlock raised the matter of Molly's statement, the one that, in his case lead to a catharsis.

"Still don't believe in love Molly?" he asked, playing with her hair.

"Oh…three years of being ignored, I didn't know what else to think. That was pretty uncharacteristic, huh?"

"Yes…yes it was. No more of that 'no love' nonsense anymore, alright?"

"Ooo…Sherlock Holmes calling love 'not-nonsense' – one for John's blog!"

With that she snuggled closer to him and sighed a deep sigh of relief. The day started _and_ ended beautifully and that was a first for Molly Hooper – and she had a feeling that it wasn't going to be the last.


End file.
